Contriction
by mccoylover
Summary: Danielle Melnick reflects on how outcomes of some of her cases shaped her life and the lives of others. References to Helpless and Open Season and SV 's Undiscovered Country. Includes OC's from my old series. Thanks to Isabella2004, dhawthrone and Cynthia for inspiring me to give this fan fiction thing another try.
1. Chapter 1

Danielle Melnick never thought of herself as the sentimental type.

Though it had been more decades that she cared to count, Melnick felt her chest swell with pride whenever she recalled the day she plunged into private practice.

233 Broadway was a brisk fifteen-minute walk from the heart of Manhattan's legal community. That fact alone made the old Woolworth building even more desirable than its Gothic architecture and its historical significance combined.

The opening of that first office represented tangible, indisputable proof, that Melnick was a self-made woman. That all the sacrifices she'd made that led to obtaining her law degree… sacrifices that had flown in the face of the expectations of her family…had been worth what they'd cost her.

As she blindly scanned the view of the Hudson River from her current office…an office still housed in the landmark building but more than triple the square footage and several floors up from the converted basement space she'd delightedly snagged all those years ago…she couldn't deny that, along with that sense of nostalgic pride, there was also a persistent sense of regret.

_You're being ridiculous… _she told herself as she impatiently brushed at the random clods of dust that stubbornly clung to the sleeves of her faded denim shirt. …_I didn't feel like this when I opened the Long Island office and pulled up stakes for a year… or even when Shambala talked me into taking the O'Neal case off her hands because Ben had that first heart scare and she couldn't bear to leave him and risk things going from bad to worse while she was hundreds of miles away…_

"Oh, Ben," she sighed as she was reminded of the memorial service that was scheduled for the following morning. She still hadn't come to terms with the fact her former adversary had lost his battle with heart disease the same week that she discovered she would more than likely find herself facing another Stone in court. But not as an adversary and not in Manhattan. "I know how proud you were of Peter. I'm sure he'll do fine without you. He's your son. He must have some Saint Ben in him. But the tales you could have told him," she continued with a half-smile. "I'm sure there will be times he's going to wish he could ask his Dad for some sage advise on how to get an illegal search by that horrible new judge from Manhattan."

She inadvertently shook her head as she turned away from the window and surveyed the room, ready to return to the task at hand.

In the corner across from the door, a pair of file cabinets stood, their metal drawers open and empty. Open packing boxes littered the polished marble floor beside them. All the boxes had been labeled and were filled to capacity.

Across the room, a collection of framed awards, diplomas and artwork lay haphazardly against the wall. Her desktop, while free of the technology that had been collected along with the computers, printers and phones of her staff the previous Friday, was prime example of organized clutter.

The confirmation for her flight to Chicago peeked out from the flap of the sleek black leather _Banuce _satchel her husband had surprised her with at her going away party the previous evening. Her gold plated "RESIST" key ring was dangling dangerously close to the edge of the desk beside a half empty mug that with declared in bold red print:

_Criminal Defense Lawyers: Because people are idiots_.

Another gift … this one of the tongue-and-cheek nature…also from the federal prosecutor she had shared her bed with for the last five years. A half spent roll of translucent packing tape and a pair of scissors laid across the desk from the mug.

At the opposite end a cluster of business cards, half empty tissue packages, napkins from the numerous take out establishments Melnick had patronized over the years, along with other odds and ends from the top drawer of her desk made up another careless pile.

The remainder of the walnut surface was covered with untidily shacked manila files.

Melnick's lips turned upward as her eyes lingered on the mug before turning her gaze to the sheet of copy paper with the bright red delta symbol peeking out at her.

_The O'Neal case…that's what started all this… _she told herself and her smile disappeared as fast as it had appeared.

The case had been a one shot. A complete twist of fate. If it had been anyone else that had asked…if Shambala Green-Stone had not only been a superb litigator with an unquestionable commitment to the rights of the accused but also one of Melnick's oldest and most loyal friends…she never would have dropped everything and devoted almost a year to the defense of another attorney's client.

The red tape…the time it took to go through the required hoops to be able to practice in Illinois…just thinking about made Melnick shake her head once more, this time in amazement at herself and the power of a friendship that had endured well beyond a quarter of a century.

But Melnick was far from the only person whose will had been bent by the passion and eloquence of Shambala Green-Stone.

The sudden buzz of her mobile startled Melnick out of her thoughts. Impulsively, she reached for the leather bag, inadvertently bumping a stack of file folders along the way. Melnick sprawled herself across the desk as she attempted to re-balance the manila folders without discarding her mobile. While most of the folders remained intact, Melnick let out a frustrated grunt as a handful of files and their contents fluttered to the marble floor.

She grudgingly plopped herself onto the floor, shoving pieces aside until she was seated in the middle the array of paper, after she shut off the alarm. It was a reminder that she had a half hour before her husband was due to pick her up for lunch. Melnick was mentally preparing her request to push back their date when a message from her husband appeared on screen to inform her that his meeting with the psychologist assigned a particularly high-profile case was running over and that he didn't anticipate finishing for another hour. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face, as she responded.

"That gives me enough time to wrap this up_ if_ I can avoid another trip down memory lane," she told herself as she scooped up a handful of papers, clearing another space on the floor before she briskly began sorting them.

The files had come from a stack that consisted of case-files pertaining to cases that had resulted in threats of varying degrees. Threats towards her and/or her staff. And occasionally, towards the handful of loved ones that remained in her life.

While all her case files had been scanned and recorded digitally, a select number of these cases were the ones that kept Melnick up at night, though she'd have to be hard-pressed to admit that. Most of those clients were now either dead or had long since forgotten their grievances towards her. Many were cases from her early days as a defense lawyer.

After receiving glowing reports from her supervisors and several of the judges she had faced during that time, Melnick swiftly built a reputation that caught the attention of managing partners for more than one of the prestigious law firms that littered Manhattan. An unexpected windfall from her Aunt Rose, the sole member of her family that had supported her decision to become a defense attorney, made it possible for to decline the offers that came her way.

The idea of setting up her own practice, hence being her own boss, outweighed the practical advantages of even the most generous signing bonus. But the ink on her lease had barely been dry before she was reminded that bills do not get paid by chutzpah alone.

From the moment she unlocked her office door, Melnick fought an inner battle to maintain the principals that drove her towards the practice of law while facing the financial realities of maintaining a sole partnership. While the cases that her friends at Legal Aide sent her way satisfied her hunger to be a crusader for the unfortunates that she felt were victimized by the criminal justice system, it would be the well-paying "scraps" …the cases that were either too contentious or just too_ distasteful _for the better firms to dirty their hand with… that would keep the doors of Danielle Melnick, Attorney at Law open for business.

For most of her career, the only reason she kept those hard copies was because the safety of others had been involved. They were files that not even her husband knew existed. The hard-copies were insurance in the unlikely event a tragedy resulted, and the authorities found themselves unable to access her digital records due to some sort of technological apocalypse, though she never really let herself believe she'd need them.

At least until Julian Preuss used her as an unwitting messenger to order the death of an Assistant District Attorney.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mark Featherstone._

She shivered as the name of the victim, who had paid the ultimate price because of her naiveté, jumped out at her from the page she had plucked from the floor. Naïve? No. Even Melnick herself knew that was too kind a description. She ceased being an innocent babe in the legal woods well before the time she found herself representing Julian Preuss.

No, Featherstone was an unwitting victim of her complete and cast-iron certainty that she was infallible. It had been so easy to cast herself as the Defender of all that was Good and Right in the World and Judge Taylor and Jack McCoy, the lead prosecutor on the Preuss case, as the villain's that were cavalierly discarding basic rights that made up the very principals that the criminal justice system was founded on.

_Principals? McCoy was right when he accused me of playing provocateur. It's one thing to do with my own life but... with someone else's… it was indefensible._

Ultimately, she had been forgiven. By the courts, McCoy and the Ethics Committee, as well as the late ADA's widow; along with Featherstone's best friend who…much to her continuing amazement…eventually made Melnick his wife. Her limp still served as a daily penance (the result of the bullet she had taken when Preuss thought Melnick had betrayed him and sent an assassin after her, as well). Preuss and his associates ended up behind bars for the rest of their lives Yet, she still couldn't quite dispel the self-loathing she felt in knowing she had played a key role in facilitating the death of another human being.

Eventually, she was able to go months without thinking about the late ADA. Then, just like on this balmy and bright Sunday afternoon, something would trigger the memories of McCoy breaking the news before giving her the heads up that she herself was being charged with conspiracy and manslaughter

Melnick, squeezed her eyes shut in a futile effort to block out the memory of the fateful visit, her old friend and courtroom nemesis, made to her Park Avenue apartment.

She cringed as she recalled the annoyance she'd felt. Annoyance at having the lead prosecutor in a case that was in progress show up on her doorstep for a midnight visit. The only thing that had kept her from curtly sending McCoy on his away was her overriding need to learn what he could deem so important that it couldn't wait until court resumed the next morning.

"_Ever hear of the telephone," was the brusque greeting she had given McCoy before taking a step back to allow him through her doorway._

"_I know it's late," he conceded as they moved towards her living room. His resigned tone and demeanor immediately increased her initial wariness. "Do you know why I'm here?"_

"_No. Your golden retriever threw you out," she'd quipped as they hovered near the sofa._

_Normally, Melnick appreciated McCoy's forthright nature. It left no doubt as to where she stood with him. But looking back on that night, she still wasn't sure whether getting right to the point had been an attempt to soften the news of Preuss's treachery and its consequences or if McCoy simply wanted to rid himself of his burden as swiftly as possible._

"_Mark Featherstone."_

"_Who?" Hearing the name of her late friend's college buddy had been so out of left field, Melnick had barely been able to get the word out of her mouth as she turned to dodge McCoy's knowing gaze._

"_His address was on Vance Grodie's organizer," McCoy replied, his tenor tinged with a despondent detachment that made his presence even more disturbing to her. "He was an ADA in Florida."_

"_Yeah, so?"_

_And then he dropped the other shoe and time seemed to stop._

"_He was murdered…I know Preuss used you, Danielle…he's doing it again… we have you on tape at Rikers, your last meeting with Preuss." While the prosecutor's tone was unyielding, it's lack of venom had Melnick's stomach doing back flips._

Pages slipped out of her grasp while her knees instinctively met her abdomen. Her hands covered her face as she recalled her response to McCoy's damning words.

_"Wait…Just wait a minute, Jack," she indignantly stammered. "The man gave me an address. That doesn't necessarily mean …My God, my God," she continued, the shock fading as the meaning of his words slowly sunk in. "Jack, you know that I would never knowingly-"_

"_You did violate the special administrative measures," McCoy benignly reminded her._

"_Because it was wrong." Twenty-years of verbal tit-for-tat with McCoy made it impossible for her to suspend the spontaneous sparring that had become as natural as taking breath to the pair._

_Even though she knew her this unexpected twist on the path she had chosen was so darkened despair, that Melnick wasn't sure she'd ever be able to find her way back to the light._

"How could I have been so damned stupid? So high-handed, so narcissistic," she whispered, oblivious to the trail of tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. "A judge? How can I judge when I have no judgement?"

"Honey, it's better to suffer and learn from honest mistakes, than to be mired in a sea of corruption," he softly responded as her head snapped up to find him beside her, one hand retrieving a bundle of pages as his opposite arm slipped over her shoulders. "If all judges were as hard on themselves as you are, the world would be a much better place, darlin'."


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later, Sam Prescott stole a glance across the bistro table to find Melnick studying the remnants of her sundae with the same intensity she customarily showed when reviewing a particularly troubling discovery package.

It wasn't the first time he'd watched his wife struggle to reconcile herself to the consequences of the Preuss case. When he'd opened her office door, it was apparent to him, Melnick was in distress. One glimpse at the pages he'd seen tumble from her hands was all he'd needed to confirm the cause of her anguish. It came as no surprise to him that stumbling onto the Preuss case file had triggered such a reaction.

Even though she had completed the mandated orientation for her judicial appointment with flying colors, Melnick still vacillated between feelings of excitement and trepidation, whenever the subject of their rapidly approaching move to Chicago came up.

Prescott had wrongly assumed that Melnick would feel more at ease once she completed the final part of the training process; presiding over an actual case, with the guidance of a supervising judge. Instead, just the opposite happened.

Presiding in her own courtroom seemed to bring the reality of starting a new career…a new life… at a time when most people her age were gearing up for grandchildren and retirement cruises, crashing down on her.

By leaving the city she'd spent most of her adult life in, Melnick was also leaving the comfort and security of a well-established practice she had happily immersed herself in, as well as leaving the professional connections and friends she cherished.

The addition of Ben Stone's death had already added to the roller coaster ride of emotions Melnick had shared with Prescott. He knew that the memories the Preuss case stirred up were the last thing his wife needed to be reliving.

So, Prescott had discarded their original plans to grab a departing old-fashioned at _The Five & Dime_, (their favorite coffee and cocktail bar, housed in the restored lobby of Melnick's office building) before enjoying a leisurely final brunch at _Temple Court_.

His first impulse was to make a beeline down Broadway to the _By the Way Bakery_, home of his wife's all-time favorite comfort food_. _ Prescott knew the bakery's award-winning chocolate torte had long been a device used by friendly foes, like Jack McCoy, when seeking a foolproof peace offering to smooth over a dispute with his wife.

But when he caught Melnick cautiously running a hand over her abdomen, he'd been reminded of how often her stomach took the brunt of her emotional upsets.

So instead, they ventured down to Front Street where he hoped the delights of _Van Leeuwen's Frozen Yogurt _would help him take her focus off perceived past wrongs and back onto the new life they were about to start.

"Now that the old office is cleaned out, maybe it's time for you to start thinkin' about how you want to furnish your chambers, madame justice."

"Even though I appreciate you getting that stuff out of my face, stuffing that last batch of files into a box in the trunk of your car doesn't mean I'm finished, Sam," she replied without looking up from her bowl. "They're still legal documents. I have to sort them and drop everything at the storage locker before I fly back to Chicago."

"Let me take care of that when we get home. In fact, I can do that and finish closin' up your office, to boot." Prescott couldn't help but smile as her eyes shot up, holding an accusatory gaze, as he continued. "If everything goes accordin' to plan with this last case, I'll have plenty of time later in the week to, not only drop off the rest of the boxes for storage but to drop off your office keys and collect your deposit as well."

"You know that's not a good idea."

Even before they were married, the pair… two attorney's who had built careers on opposites sides of the aisle…had established clear and undisputed boundaries with regards to any and everything that could possibly involve attorney work product.

"Now darlin'. You told me yourself that you'd been boxin' up closed case files. I know for a fact, the one you had hold of when I came in, is well beyond its expiration date. They'll be no harm, no foul. 'Sides, both of us know there's no reason for you to risk another bout of the blue's over them."

Melnick took a thoughtful bite of her sundae while she considered his words. In theory, she knew he was right. Many of the case files were from the early days of her practice. Some even dated back to the early 1990's when Prescott, who had begun his career out of state, was working as a prosecutor with the U.S. Attorney's Office's Eastern District. This fact made it unlikely that he would have knowledge as to the significance those cases held for her.

Melnick seriously doubted he'd even recognize the names of those clients, save for Julien Presuss.

But they were still client files. Not just client files but files that contained threats that would naturally alarm someone close to her, as well as records of some of the most egregious defendants Melnick had chosen to advocate for.

And records of some of the most abominable actions she taken in a client's behalf.

"And _you'd_ be comfortable if the positions were reversed and I was sorting a box of _your _case files?"

"Why Danielle Rose, I'm wounded that you'd even think to ask that," he countered, placing the palm of his hand over his heart to feign injury. "But, it's obviously your call, darlin'," Prescott casually continued, the melodic tenor of his voice clinging to a hint of his native West Virginian twang. "However, I believe you still have a motion to review before you head back to Chicago and we have Ben's funeral right after breakfast tomorrow and I know you want to attend the reception after, since we both missed the wake," he reminded her, pausing to lick a rapidly descending stream of ice cream from his cone. "And, those are just the errands I can remember you mentionin' last night. Oh, I almost forgot. You also said you needed to talk to the realtor tonight. We're supposed to be partners. Life partners. So, it just makes sense for you to hand off as much as you can to me, 'stead of doin' it all on your own."

Melnick sighed before scooping up the last of her melted delight. She knew Prescott had made valid points, though she hated to admit it. She herself had been wondering when she was going to find a spare moment to sort through the remaining items in her closet to find a suitable outfit for the Monday morning service.

In the time that she had been with him, Melnick's admiration for Sam Prescott's soft-spoken ability to successfully reason his way around her, as well as to forthrightly address and resolve whatever issue might come between them, continued to grow as well as to mystify her.

Never in a million's years had she thought she'd accept a proposal from a southern gentleman whose descendants were made up of Appalachian miners and farmers. Not because they were any better or worse than her family of bankers and rabbi's, but because she could not have conceived of bridging the obvious gaps in life experience, values and religion.

But even more astounding to her had been the realization that she could find unconditional love and acceptance with a man that had a reputation as one of the foremost prosecutors in the country.

As she met his somewhat amused gaze, Melnick reminded herself it had been Prescott's unwavering ethics, his ability to hold himself accountable even under the most trying of circumstances, that had ultimately tipped the balance when they'd been introduced all those years before.

"Since you've already forfeited brunch at _Temple Court _because of me, I guess I should just shut up and be grateful you want to help."

"Oh, brown sugar snicker-doodle for brunch is _such_ a sacrifice! But it's a cross I happily bear for you, darlin," he answered as he winked. "'Sides, you know it's the architecture not the food that's the attraction for me, at _Temple Court_."

"Sure, you just forced yourself to tolerate their eggs Benedict for the last umpteen years."

"It'll be fun looking for an alternative spot once I tie up my loose ends here and we start to get settled in Chicago," he replied before popping the last of his cone into his mouth, as a server slipped Melnick's empty bowl off the table before setting the check between them. "Feelin' a little better? If you're still queasy, some fizzy water might help."

"You know chocolate cures all ills, at least for me," Melnick assured him. "Speaking of loose ends, I didn't give you a chance to tell me what happened this morning. You're meeting ran over. Did that wonder shrink of your always raving about…what was her name again… find a flaw with that witness she interviewed for you?"

"Her name is Beth Logan and it's nothin' that won't smooth itself out. But now that you ask, I have to admit we ran over because of me. When we were done with the case, I took the opportunity to mention some of my concerns about you."

Melnick rolled her eyes. Her satisfied smile, left by the tasty flavors of the triple chocolate yogurt, twisted into a grimace.

"Don't start this again, Sam."

"Listen honey, I know you don't want to talk about this and quite frankly, I'd rather just enjoy the rest of our afternoon instead of bringin' it up, but what happened in your office just reinforces-"

"I told you before we left the office that I'm just a little overwhelmed right now. There's no reason I need to talk to a shrink, even one you hold up as the next Sigmund Freud."

"Beth is a psychologist not a psychiatrist and if it was just another crisis of conscious over Preuss, I'd defer to your good judgement."

"Good judgment? Seriously?"

"That, is what I'm concerned about, Danielle."

"What?"

"The self-doubt I've been seein' since you accepted your judgeship."

"Of course, I still have some doubts. I'm not an egomaniac. I've tried one case."

"Let's talk about that case."

"Let's not."

"If you were actin' like you usually act when you finish a case…win or lose… I wouldn't feel the need to discuss it. But-"

"This case was under the direction of a supervising judge," she grudgingly interjected. "It was a judicial dry run. When I go back, I'll be on my own, flying without a net."

"Which is usually how you like it."

"Being a judge isn't exactly business as usual for me."

"That's fair enough," Prescott ceded. "So maybe that's reason enough for you to talk to Beth."

"Sam, just because I take my shortcomings seriously, doesn't mean I'm a candidate for Bellevue."

"Askin' you to talk to the woman doesn't mean I'm havin' commitment papers drawn up," Prescott laughingly assured her. "Beth would be actin' as a soundin' board, nothin' more. She's sees a lot of different types of people, not just witnesses. Sittin' down with her might make you less anxious about the transition. It's a big transition, Danielle. You earned that judgeship and I'm proud of you. I'd just like to see you enjoy it."

"Beth," Melnick let out a sigh of disgust. "I've dealt with court appointed shrinks…excuse me, _psychologists_… for decades. If she's so great, why haven't I heard of her before?"

"Probably because she's just started using her married name," Prescott began, only to be interrupted by the chime of his mobile. "I only know her as Elizabeth Logan. But that is neither here nor there. Bein' a judge is like night and day compared to bein' an attorney. You're in the cat bird's seat now and it's takin' a toll," he continued as he scrolled down the screen before picking the check off the table and pushing his chair back. "Sorry, darlin'. It's Eldridge in the Attorney General's office. He's returnin' my call. I'll be right back."

Melnick watched with a sense of relief as her husband paid a passing server on his way out the door. Prescott couldn't know how right his analogy had been.

Deciding motions, interpreting the rules of evidence, and so many other things she'd always had such set opinion's about, had suddenly seemed foreign during the Oates trial. Not only because she was being trained, with the help of Judge O'Hare's impartial eyes, to look at those things in a new and much more objective light but also because she was ruling for or against the son of one of her most learned adversaries.

Every time Peter Stone had approached the bench, Melnick had seen flashes of a young Ben Stone.


	4. Chapter 4

That evening, Melnick struggled to keep her eyes open while she took a much-needed bath. Afterwards, the knowledge that she would soon be swapping the comforts of home and returning to her cookie-cutter room in the Windy City's downtown Hilton, helped coax her weary body towards the master bedroom.

She found her pajama clad husband diligently matching papers to folders that had been neatly organized in the cardboard box on the floor in front of him. Melnick lingered in the doorway. The image of Prescott engrossed in her casefiles immediately brought the reservations she'd expressed earlier that day bubbling back up to the surface.

_Stop being so paranoid and have a little faith in the man, _she told herself, noting that Prescott's face held a look of attentiveness, not the look of condemnation she had been expecting. _They're dirty cases but Sam's had his share of those…Besides, it's not like you did anything wrong…Sam understands that the duty of a defense attorney is to zealously defend their clients… All this soul searching is making you second guess everything and it's taking your focus away from a once in a lifetime opportunity…Maybe it wouldn't hurt to talk to this Logan woman after all._

"Darlin' you look dead on your feet," Prescott remarked as he gave her a weary smile.

"The call to the realtor took longer than I expected," she admitted while depositing the robe at the foot of the bed. "We have an offer from that couple from Buffalo. It's slightly below the asking price but it's a cash offer and they can close in a matter of days, instead of weeks."

"Well, that sounds promisin'," he remarked as he scanned the files.

"But Freddie thinks that, if we hold out a little longer, we'll have a bidding war on our hands and be a couple hundred thousand dollars ahead."

"Is that what you want to do," Prescott asked, as he continued to work.

"More money is always nice but there are other factors to consider. What do you think?"

"I think turn about is fair play," Prescott answered with a smile as he turned his gaze to her. "You gave me a free hand when I sold the house in Islip. It's only fair you have the final say on the penthouse."

"Selling the house in Islip was a different situation," she countered, recalling her undisclosed relief at the sale of a house that, no matter how much redecorating she'd done, Melnick never could quite rid it of the imprint that had been left by his ex-wife." Prescott's smile deepened as if he could read her thoughts but when he declined to press her, she hurried on as she curled up on the mattress. "Besides, just because I asked for your opinion doesn't mean I'm going to do what you want."

Prescott replied with a hearty laugh.

"Well in that case, for purely selfish reasons, a quick close holds more appeal to me than the extra money does. The housin' market may be tough in Chicago but it's still nothin' like Manhattan. Between us, we'll easily have enough money to buy whatever we want. But closin' sooner rather than later will nip this commuter marriage business in the bud. So, I'm rootin' for the Buffalo couple," he explained, giving her a playful wink before picking up what remained of the loose pages.

"Sam, I only dropped a handful of those files You've been working on them since I went to call Freddie."

"True, but I just stuffed everythin' in the box willy-nilly to get it down to the car. Then the whole thing got turned over on the ride home, so I had to alphabetize the files before I even got started on puttin' those loose pages in some semblance of order," he explained as he reached for another file. "Another twenty minutes and I'll be finished."

Melnick nodded her understanding as she stifled a yawn and Prescott knew his wife wasn't going to last more than another twenty seconds. Papers still in hand, he stood to plant a kiss on her lips.

"I know it sounds crazy but I'm really lookin' forward to startin' a new chapter with you in Chicago," he somberly admitted. "With all of the strong ties we have here in New York, you and I really haven't had the chance to build a life together without the ghosts of the past lurkin' in the shadows. We both accepted that when we married. I think we've made a good life here. But I think I was more thrilled than you were about your judgeship, once I realized what it could mean in terms of our marriage."

Though her eyes had surrendered to fatigue, her weary smile told him she had heard his words.

"_I'm _looking forward to you coming to bed. Don't be too long, Sam."

"I'll be there in two shakes. Sleep well, honey," he whispered before dropping a kiss on her forehead and returning to the work at hand.

Only a few of the names on the file folders registered even a vague recollection with Prescott. As he sorted through the pages, occasionally he would recognize the name of a court reporter or judge but all in all, he could have been filing documents belonging to his accountant for all the meaning they held for him.

The only names that had been of any real significance to Prescott had been on the copy of Julian Preuss's amended indictment, which noted the death of Mark Featherstone and the attempted murder of Danielle Melnick.

The reminder of the death of one of his oldest friends, as well of as the almost fatal lesson his current wife had learned at the hands of Preuss, caused Prescott to say a prayer of thanks that Preuss was rotting away in a federal prison in another state, without any chance of being paroled.

But with most of the work complete, he was anxious to finish and join his wife in bed. Partly, because he knew that opportunities to spend the night with his wife were about to become few and far between for the foreseeable future. Partly, because he wanted to be well rested to face what he knew would be a difficult day for them both.

His own friendship with Ben Stone had waned over the years when Prescott had been forced to abandon his life in New York. By the time he returned, Stone had made a name for himself in academia and had left the practice of law entirely.

The two men occasionally ran into each other when they were escorting their defense attorney wives to events such as the Bar Association dinners and various other civic functions. Prescott had admired Stone's dedication to serving justice. He knew the former prosecutor would be sorely missed in both the legal and the academic communities.

_A change in venue notice for Hampton, Gideon. Check. A notice of dismissal for Lebowski, Vincent. Check…_Prescott silently read as he continued matching documents to file folders. Since the files had been created in a time when thin metal brackets where used to secure hole punched copies, all but a few of the pages that he'd collected had torn holes, making it impossible to do more than just slip the displaced page back into the folder, so the process moved quickly.

"Now this is an odd duck," he murmured as he paused to scan the letterhead. "Regardin' _Olivet v Melnick_. Proposed Settlement Agreement… Dear Ms. Melnick…in the matter of the _People v Merritt… _with regards to the slanderous nature of… defamation of character…. In addition to the distress and undue harm both, mentally and monetarily, that has been caused to Dr. Elizabeth Olivett and her practice…," Prescott let out a low whistle as his eyes landed on the amount of damages Olivet's lawyer had demanded.

Prescott shot a quick glance at his sleeping wife.

_Today 1.5 million dollars is a nice chuck of change, but in 1993, that amount would have bankrupted a young litigator like Danielle._

While he didn't recognize the name of the civil litigator running the case, he knew the firm that was listed on the letterhead. Gorton & Steinhart had always had a reputation as legal barracudas. They often demanded and got higher than average settlements for their clients. Prescott rubbed a thoughtful hand over his chin before scanning the folders.

"Olivet, Olivet…hum," he muttered, puzzled as how he could be overlooking the file he needed. "Old files do tend to stick together."

As he carefully made his way through the alphabetized files, Prescott found that the plaintiff's name was undeniably familiar. He was almost through the L's when he realized Dr. Elizabeth Olivet was not only the name of a court appointed psychologist that had gotten exemplary reviews from several of his colleagues over the years, she was also the counselor his ex-wife had mentioned seeing several years earlier.

_How the hell could she have grounds to accuse Danielle of charges like mental distress?_

With a resigned sigh, Prescott began shifting through the next pile, hesitating when he reached the folder labeled _Merritt, Dr. Alexander_.

Though his curiosity was highly aroused, Prescott gave the bed another glance, hoping to find Melnick had stirred and would be willing to direct him to the correct home for the document. Instead, he found his wife still sleeping soundly.

After another moment of hesitation, Prescott decided to drop the document into the Merritt file and make a mental note to have Melnick confirm its proper placement in the morning.

The folder was by far the thickest of the lot, so Prescott was more annoyed than surprised, when he opened the file only to have an assortment of pages come tumbling out.

"Good grief," he snapped as he snatched the new assortment of pages off the floor.

As he skimmed the pages, the connection between the Merritt rape trial and the Olivet civil suit became crystal clear. The doctor's decision to tape her visit with the accused, as well as her relationship with the NYPD as a consultant, made Melnick's entrapment defense a slam dunk. But even Prescott couldn't deny his wife's cross examination of Dr. Olivet was cringe worthy.

He knew from personal experience that rape trials were messy. And ugly. With the addition of the cowboy antics described in the few pages he'd reviewed; it wasn't hard for him to imagine the headache the Merritt case had to have been for the lead prosecutor.

"But there had to be more than Danielle beatin' the victim up, for a settlement machine like Gorton & Steinhart to even give the good doctor the time of day," Prescott glanced at his watch and shrugged his shoulders. "Time to let this go before one; I see the light of day comin' through the windows and two, Danielle wakes up and gives me hell for doin' what she was afraid I'd do to start with," he quietly chuckled as he tidied the bundle of pages before slipping them back inside the manila folder. "The woman would annihilate me."

The rest of the filing was uneventful and moved quickly. It wasn't until he was down to the last loose page that he inadvertently found himself holding another page that belonged in the Merritt file.

Prescott was surprised to find that Merritt had been indicted again, just a few months after the Olivet case had been settled. His curiosity renewed, Prescott scanned the page and he instantly understood the reason Olivet's lawyer had demanded such a fanciful settlement amount.

He also understood why Melnick had accepted a life sentence for her client without even attempting to take these new charges to a jury.

_Fifty-four women Merritt either raped, molested, or abused…A serial rapist with a medical degree and Danielle got him acquitted._


	5. Chapter 5

Having signed the guest book, Danielle Melnick lingered in the narthex to wait for her husband to arrive at St. Andrew's Cathedral. When she awoke that morning, Melnick had been surprised to find a note on the pillow next to her. When she discovered that Prescott had decided that a trip to his office to conduct some unexplained research couldn't wait until after Ben Stone's memorial, Melnick's initial surprise turned to halfhearted acceptance.

While Melnick found the last-minute change in plans disappointing, she knew that she herself had been in the position of having to alter commitments to her husband, in order to fulfill unexpected professional obligations of her own.

As her gaze traveled across the foyer, she nodded her acknowledgement of the smiles fellow defense attorney Ruthie Miller and retired Judge Margaret Barry sent her way, in the sea of otherwise unfamiliar faces. Their presence confirmed her assumption that Stone's widow had chosen the cathedral, at least in part due to its proximity to the courthouse and Hogan Place, as many of Stone's former colleagues would be sprinting from the service to resume their workday routines.

After glancing at her watch, Melnick fell into step with the growing crowd that was slowly moving into the sanctuary. While the line of mourners inched forward, her eyes settled on the Latin inscription _Beati gvi amvalant in lege Domini,_ along with its translation, that was printed above its entrance.

_"Blessed are they who walk in the law of the Lord." If that doesn't sum up Ben Stone, I don't know what does, _Melnick mused. Judging by the snippets of conversation she was able to glean, it was obvious to her that most funeral-goers within her earshot were connected to the former prosecutor by his second career, as a professor of criminal law at Columbia University.

Once she'd made it through the doorway, Melnick was handed a program by an usher. She felt a twinge of regret as she eyed the headshot of Stone on its cover. Though his hair had thinned enough to place Stone indisputably on the road to baldness and the strands that _did_ remain were decidedly more white than brown, the former prosecutor's bright blue eyes still carried the unpretentious gaze Melnick remembered from her first encounter with Stone.

She'd seen that gaze for the first time when Stone summoned her to his office, a few weeks after the verdict for the Merrick case had come in. The first Merrick case. The case she'd won…or more accurately…the case the jury came back with a not guilty verdict for.

It was the look Stone had worn when he produced indisputable evidence of her client's guilt in, not one but scores, of sexual abuse allegations.

_Not exactly your finest moment_, Melnick's inner voice reminded her. _Yet, Ben didn't gloat… he didn't even try to humiliate me. He was just satisfied to finally close Merritt down and get that bastard behind bars. Ben never gloated. Maybe that's why Shambala couldn't resist him…_

Melnick impatiently blinked back tears as she opened the program and noted the irony of Jack McCoy…the man who had been selected to replace Stone as Adam Schiff's top prosecutor… leading Stone's eulogy, before she looked up to scan the pews for two empty spaces.

As she walked, her eyes fell on the front of the church. St. Andrew's Cathedral was one of the city's finest examples of Georgian Revival architecture. Melnick couldn't help but pause to take in the ornate splendor of the marble statues and stained-glass windows that adorned the room before her gaze drifted to where Shambala Green-Stone was consulting with a robed figure and the District Attorney for New York county. Despite the distance, Melnick could see that even though Stone's widow was solemnly nodding as she gestured towards the casket that was laden with black beauty orchids, Green-Stone's expressive taupe eyes were fixed on the doorway. Intuitively, Melnick followed her gaze, only to find more well-wishers entering the sanctuary.

While there were still several empty pews remaining, the seats were filling fast. The front of the church was already to capacity, with mourners automatically dividing it into loosely formed factions. The row reserved for the immediate family was occupied by the college aged daughter of Stone and his second wife. Beside her was a young man that Melnick presumed to be the girl's boyfriend. The next row consisted of an assortment of people, that varied in age, dress style and ethnicity, none of whom Melnick could immediately place.

She pegged the group that had claimed the next several rows after that as staff and students from Columbia. Most were dressed in the traditional assortment of dark colors associated with a Christian memorial service but the contrast between the sea of_ Macy's_ off-the-rack suits and the assortment of tailor made attire from designers such as _Lou Myles_ and _Alan David_ created a distinctive border where academia stopped and the widows assortment of friends and colleagues, that ranged the gambit of community and religious leaders to former legal aide and public defenders that had left for and found greener pastures, began.

The remaining rows consisted of an assortment of retired and soon-to-be retired senior staff from the DA's office and a sprinkling of uniformed NYPD detectives, judges and support staff such as former medical examiner Elizabeth Rodgers, who was chatting with a woman Melnick recognized as Stone's former administrative assistant.

As she debated whether to continue towards the few remaining spaces in the front or to look for a friendly face among her former adversaries in the back, a gentle tap on her shoulder prompted her to turn and meet the usher's apologetic smile with one of her own before continuing down the aisle.

Melnick continued towards the few remaining places near the front when a familiar voice caused her to turn towards the pew she had just passed.

"Danielle, I heard about your appointment when I was in Chicago last month," Paul Robinette...greyer and slightly wider than when she had seen him at the last Bar Association mixer... called out as he stood to greet her. "It shouldn't take a tragedy like this to finally get the chance to congratulate you. I should have contacted you sooner. You'll be a brilliant jurist. I'm just sorry I'll only have a chance to present cases in your courtroom if I am representing a client in Chicago."

Melnick could feel her face heat up in response to the unexpected compliment.

"Thanks Paul, that's high praise, coming from you," she murmured as her mind fluttered back to the Merritt case before she felt herself nudged forward. "Are those seats taken?"

"No, I'm on my own," Robinette assured her as he slid over to make room for her in the pew. "Please, join me."

"Fair warning: Sam should be here any minute. Sure you don't mind being seen with, not only the wife of a Fed, but the Fed himself?"

"People that think like that are the same people that still view me as some kind of turncoat for leaving the DA's office," he good naturedly reminded her. "Ben would want you both here and it's his day, not there's."

"Are you sure about that," Melnick solemnly asked as she set her clutch bag in the empty space between them. "After all, you were still Ben's assistant when we went up against each other in the early days. You know how appalled he was by some of the clients I defended back then."

"Of course, I'm sure," Robinette was quick to assure her. "Ben would be the first one to tell you the process doesn't work if we pick and choose who gets a zealous defense. You know that and even if that weren't true," he continued with a knowing smile, "I'm sure Ben was thoroughly schooled on the evils found on_ both_ sides of the aisle by Shambala."

Melnick couldn't help but chuckle at the truth of Robinette's last statement. She herself had been witness many times, since the unlikely pair had married, to the playful verbal skirmishes the couple had engaged in on that very topic.

"Poor Shambala. Keisha just barely started college. Ben was going to retire when she finished. They were planning on retiring and maybe even selling their place in the Village so they would be free to travel more," Melnick wistfully remarked as her eyes traveled back to the front of the church.

"Have you spoken to her yet?"

"No. One of Ben's TA's called me to let me know about the funeral," Melnick explained. "I tried to reach Shambala that night, but the call went right to voicemail, which was already full. The earliest flight I could book got me back to Manhattan early Saturday, so I missed the viewing and the wake. I was hoping I'd get a chance to talk to her today at the reception."

"Everything happened so fast, I'm sure she'll be grateful you managed to get back in time for the funeral. I got a chance to speak to her at the viewing," Robinette replied. "She's devastated but she does have a strong support system. Her parents can stay indefinitely. With Ben's family almost non- existent, they've been supporting Keisha, as well as Shambala. Ben was one of the advisors for the Law Review at Columbia. His colleagues and several of the students have been helping Shambala's parents with the service and his obituary."

"Is that how Jack ended up being the keynote speaker?"

"Actually, that was Shambala," Robinette explained. "When she found out that Adam's own health problems would make it impossible for him to fly back to speak, she asked Ben's son to call McCoy and ask him to stand in. Even though he'd been away from the DA's office for years, Shambala knew how much his time as Adam's right hand still meant to Ben. She wanted that honored. Even though Jack and Ben had their differences, Jack _is_ the DA."

Melnick nodded in understanding. She knew the divisions between the two men had been deepened by the untimely death of the assistant they had shared. But the two men had eventually found common ground. In part, through their mutual collection of friends and colleagues that had forced them to find a way to, at least maintain the appearance of civility, when they were thrown together at various social functions. In part, due to the healing that the passage of time brought, in the years that followed the death of Clare Kincaid.

"What about Peter? When did Peter get in from Chicago?"

Robinette shifted uncomfortably in his seat before admitting that, as far as he knew, Stone's son had yet to make an appearance.

"Maybe Peter was trying to arrange things so he could bring his sister with him," Melnick offered; remembering that Green-Stone had mentioned the fact that Stone's oldest child…a daughter from his first marriage, named Pam… had been plagued by schizophrenia since her early teens and had been in and out of mental health facilities for years.

"Maybe," Robinette doubtfully replied. "I hope you're right, for Shambala's sake. She's been trying to bridge the gap between Ben and Peter for years. I think that was the real reason Shambala started taking on cases in her Chicago office again. Those cases gave her an excuse to work on Peter and then come back to Manhattan with at least an update for Ben on how his son was doing."

Before Melnick could comment a sudden hush fell over the room and Melnick looked towards the pulpit to find Shambala Green-Stone standing alone at the microphone.

There was no sign of the self-assurance that naturally exuded from Green-Stone. It wasn't just the fact that the simple black cotton caftan she wore was such a departure from the bright, flamboyant wardrobe that had become her trademark. It was the look of defeat that spanned from her lifeless expression to the way her body sagged, as if she was about to succumb to the weight of an invisible burden that had overwhelmed her essence.

"Before we begin, I would like to extend my thanks and the thanks of Peter, Pamela and Keisha, for joining us to honor Ben this morning," Green-Stone began, as her eyes flickered between the page she held and the back of the church. "All of Ben's children, wherever they may be, appreciate the outpouring of support that is evident by your presence here, today. It had been Ben's greatest wish that his son Peter would be able to join us but due to circumstances beyond anyone's control, that will not be possible," she continued with a note of resignation before pausing to gaze once more at the doorway.

As if a switch had been flipped, the look of defeat transformed into an expression of unvarnished gratitude. All eyes turned to the doorway to watch a disheveled young man abandoned his suitcase before giving Green-Stone a stoic smile and moving to join his stepmother, as he haphazardly knotted his tie.

Melnick and Robinette exchanged relieved glances before she turned her attention to her purse, to see if she had missed a text message that would explain what was delaying her husband.

"Well, Sam's just made it by the skin of his teeth and look who's with him," Robinette whispered. "I thought those two broke up after his transfer to Staten Island."

She absentmindedly nodded as she tapped out a message to guide Prescott towards her, before looking up to find her husband, along with Mike Logan and Elizabeth Olivet, trailing behind Stone's son.


	6. Chapter 6

With their home computer already in storage, Sam Prescott was forced to search for answers to the questions that had robbed him of a sound night's sleep, by slipping out of the penthouse at first light to access his office computer at the Department of Justice.

But once he started digging, new questions replaced every query answered by Prescott's impromptu investigation into the case of_ Olivet v Melnick_.

Why had the doctor settled for a sum far below her attorney's initial demand? More importantly, why would Danielle sign off on a settlement, in the first place? Whether it would save her a dollar or millions of dollars, Prescott knew his wife wasn't the sort to backdown, especially when her integrity was in question. But what confounded Prescott the most was the fact Melnick had taken on the case, in the first place.

Based on everything he knew about Danielle Melnick's clients, Dr. Alexander Merritt stood out like a sore thumb.

Merritt had the means to pick and choose from the more established firms the Big Apple had to offer. Why go to, what at the time, had been a fledgling, one-woman firm? While having a client choose a relative newbie over the likes of the prestigious sharks at partnerships like _Cromwell, Moore_ would be a feather in the cap of any young attorney, Prescott knew Melnick was a crusader, not an opportunist.

He knew and accepted the fact that his wife had taken on more than her share of controversial clients; clients who had ties to groups that ran the gambit of being former Black Panthers to members of the Aryan Brotherhood. She wore the diversity of her client list like a badge of honor that symbolized her commitment to her belief in equal protection under the law for all, including the most unsavory defendant. Not only had he never held that commitment against her, Prescott had admired and respected her for it, well before Randy Dworkin had set them up on their first date together.

While he was at a loss as to what had driven Melnick's decision to take Merritt's case on, Prescott was more stymied by the way Melnick had gone after the victim. By all accounts, Elizabeth Olivet had been a respected professional, albeit one that worked for the other side of the aisle. Although Olivet had exercised undeniably poor judgement in her dealings with Alexander Merritt, Prescott had been unable to find any history of substance abuse or any of the other traditional indicators that would point to a victim's motives for bringing charges as dubious.

Though he knew firsthand how unsavory rape cases could be, Prescott couldn't fathom the venom he found within the trial transcript. Usually free of the intonation and general drama of the live courtroom setting, transcripts downplayed the viciousness of witness examinations. But even the unembellished pages reflected a line of questioning from the defense that was unquestionably designed to annihilate the alleged victim.

By the time Prescott became aware of the bright rays of sunlight that muted the sharpness of his computer screen, the nine-a.m. service was just minutes from starting. Prescott knew that if he cut through Foley Square, he could be at the cathedral in less than ten minutes. So, he hoped for a late start to the service and abandoned his search.

Once he reached the courthouse, he was further delayed by another set of late arrivals, one of which was Elizabeth Logan. Though, as was his habit when working with someone he favored, Prescott had good naturedly christened the noted psychologist with a nickname. In this case, Beth.

After exchanging greetings, Beth had introduced the man who stood next to her. Prescott instantly remembered the uniformed detective as one of the NYPD officers that had arrested him several years before when he had been wrongly accused of the murder of the mafia kingpin that had threatened Prescott and his former wife. Detective Mike Logan also recalled that encounter and took their chance meeting as an opportunity to express his regret at having arrested the wrong man.

By the time the trio entered the cathedral, Peter Stone was moving down the center aisle to join his stepmother at the pulpit. As the trio wordlessly trailed a discreet distance behind Stone, Prescott felt the vibration coming from the inside pocket of his suitcoat. He paused to scan the screen of his mobile and then the sanctuary, acknowledging Melnick with a slight nod before changing course to join her.

"Perfect timing, counselor," Robinette whispered as he stood to allow Prescott to slip into the pew between himself and Melnick.

Prescott gave Robinette a thankful smile before planting an even quicker kiss on his wife's cheek as she handed him her program.

As he scanned the page, Prescott's surprise at seeing the name Elizabeth Logan listed as one of the speakers noted under the heading: _Tributes From Survivors of Criminal Acts_ was muted by Shambala Green-Stone's introduction of her stepson, who took a moment to explain that his tardiness had been due to his unsuccessful efforts to bring his sister Pamela to the ceremony.

"…and although, my sister was anxious to show her love and devotion to our father by attending today, sadly her doctors determined this morning that the strain of his death on her, has made it unwise for Pamela to join us this morning," Stone explained before pausing to join his stepmother and half-sister beside the coffin, cordless microphone in hand.

Prescott watched as Green-Stone handed Stone two of the three unopened long-stemmed white roses she held before taking the microphone from him.

"Thank you, Peter. As many of you already know, Ben and I were professional adversaries long before we married. In a moment, Jack McCoy and Paul Robinette will honor Ben with recollections from those days before Professor Jimenez, Ben's Department Chair at Columbia and Leticia Chan, student editor of the Columbia Law Review, a publication Ben took so much pride in advising, will honor him with their recollections of his professional life after leaving the District Attorney's Office. Finally, you will hear from former complainants that Ben represented during his time in the District Attorney's office, whose requests to express their gratitude for the support and justice that Ben strived to provide for them, deeply touched me.

"But I would like to take this time to honor, not executive Assistant District Attorney Stone, nor Professor Stone, but Benjamin Peter Stone. The man, the father and the husband who, while never perfect," she noted as she and her stepson locked eyes. "Was a man who loved deeply and unconditionally, though he wasn't always comfortable expressing that love. During our precious time together we both grew professionally, spiritually and as a couple.

"The years served to soften the wounds and the rough edges that are bound to form when facing the challenges found working in public service," she continued, struggling to maintain the firm, assured tone she'd begun with, though not quite succeeding as she turned to face her daughter; placing her hands on Keisha's shoulders. "Your father's love lives on and with continue to do so until you meet again. Love is gracious and love is kind; love is never boastful or proud."

Keisha nodded before moving from her mother to place her rose atop the spray of orchids. Her silent tears visible to Prescott, though his seat was yards away.

He felt Melnick's hand slip into his as Keisha moved to face her half-brother.

"You and I and Pam share a father. His blood runs through each of us as does his sense of morality and fair play. His love is endless and should be shared and remembered by all of us. His love of us and our love of him will sustain us until we transcend this life and are reunited in the next. Love is never jealous. Love does not keep a record of past wrongs; love preserves and forgives all things."

Though Stone accepted Keisha's embrace, the rigid set of his shoulders and the stiffness of the back he gave the audience, silently spoke his discomfort to Prescott.

His back still to the front, Stone moved to lay his pair of roses beside his half-sisters', lingering until Keisha stepped beside him, squeezing his hand before handing Stone the microphone.


	7. Chapter 7

Prescott and Melnick exchanged concerned glances as Peter Stone remained with his back to the crowd. His growing silence and the anxious faces that Green-Stone and her daughter wore, made it clear that the younger man was involved in some sort of internal struggle. It was a struggle that came to an end only after Keisha returned to his side to hurriedly and inaudibly whisper something that finally caused Stone to abruptly turn to address the crowd.

His features were surprisingly subdued and self-possessed. Peter Stone now looked as if he were in a courtroom acting in his role of States Attorney, instead of addressing a church full of mourners in his role of grieving son.

"If my sister Pamela were here, she would tell you what a selfless and devoted wife and stepmother Shambala has been. She and Keisha brought a true sense of family to the Stone household that was lacking before they came into our lives," he began, before extending a hand to each of the women. "Pam cherished the visits our father made during her treatment and those visits would not have occurred with the frequency that they did, if my father had not been tenaciously encouraged and supported by Shambala."

The chorus of knowing chuckles that followed this remark served as recognition that Green-Stone's tenacity was not only indisputable but well known to those present. It also elicited a reluctant chuckle from the speaker as well.

"Our stepsister Keisha followed her mother's example. Keisha would write to Pam. As she got older, Keisha accompanied our father on his visits. Pam was thrilled that her baby sister thought she was well enough…whole enough… to give her advice on important problems, such as Keisha's first crush, which schools to apply to for college and," he paused, the first flicker of sorrow since he had started speaking escaping with a crack in his voice. "How to bridge the natural chasm between fathers and daughters. As for my father," he continued before he returned the microphone to his stepmother; Stone's now dogged stare met by Green-Stone's unusually resigned gaze. "He would agree that love does not delight in evil. It rejoices with the truth. If Ben Stone was about anything, Ben Stone was about the power of truth and its ability to, ultimately, set you free."

Nearly an hour later, Melnick gave her husband a gentle nudge after hearing the soft but steady tick of his pocket watch. While the number of tributes had amazed her, Melnick had been more surprised by the speed with which they were delivered.

Once the family had left the podium, a soloist rendition of _Wherever You Go,_ had served as a transition to the tributes from Paul Robinette, Jack McCoy and members of the Columbia faculty all of which, though heartfelt, had moved at a moderate clip.

It wasn't until the tributes from Survivors of Criminal Acts had begun that the pace started to slow.

"I thought you didn't have to be in court until eleven," Melnick whispered as she watched the timepiece disappear into his vest pocket.

"I know, I just hoped I'd get a chance to introduce you to Beth before I left," Prescott quietly responded. "But, at this rate, I may not even get to put in an appearance at the reception."

_Beth…_

Melnick fought to suppress a grimace. Between seeing Elizabeth Logan's name listed as one of the Survivors speaking and watching Elizabeth Olivet and Mike Logan enter the sanctuary arm in arm, it hadn't taken her long to conclude the two were actually one in the same woman. That realization unleashed a whirlwind of questions that Melnick had been forced to set aside, once Peter Stone had begun speaking.

But the tumultuous array of questions instantly shot back into her consciousness upon hearing Prescott's benign response.

Melnick couldn't help but wonder what kind of game Liz Olivet was playing. The last time she was in her husband's office, their wedding picture was still sitting in the middle of his desk…albeit facing Prescott…Olivet had to know she was Sam's wife. Even if Olivet hadn't seen the photo, Prescott was the definition of a proud husband. Surely, he'd mentioned who his wife was to a colleague he was so enamored by?

Melnick slipped the program from her husbands' hand to confirm the omission of the doctor's maiden name.

While the logic in giving up the name the noted psychologist had been linked to for almost three decades escaped Melnick, the program did indeed confirm that Liz Olivet was now using the name Elizabeth Logan.

_And she's the woman Sam thinks I should bear my soul to? What a laugh Liz must have gotten out of that idea!_

Once Melnick had won Merritt's acquittal against Olivet's rape accusation (though, if anyone wanted to split hairs, the judge had ordered a trial order of dismissal to effectively vacate the jury's guilty verdict), Stone and Robinette presented Melnick with evidence of scores of crimes Merritt had committed against other female patients. It was undisputable evidence that had left the defense attorney sickened and with no alternative but to accept Stone's demand of life imprisonment for her client. Though Melnick's bravado had been considerably deflated once she realized the extent in which her client had bamboozled, not only the court but Melnick herself, she had been even more stunned when Olivet had promptly slapped her with a civil suit.

A suit that had the potential to derail her career as it was just beginning to take off.

Melnick involuntarily shook her head to bring her thoughts back to the present, only to find Olivet standing at the pulpit.

"My name is Elizabeth Olivet Logan. It is good to see Ben honored, not only by people from so many walks of life but by people that, quite understandably, would prefer to forget about the time in their lives that they needed Ben's help. Many of you know me professionally and may be wondering why I am speaking now, instead of with Ben's other colleagues from the DA's office," she began before audibly taking a breath while casting a lingering glance towards her husband. "What some of you may not know, is that Ben prosecuted the man who raped me. Though he was unable to get a conviction upheld in my case, Ben's unwavering search for the truth is what ultimately led to my rapist eventually being brought to justice."


	8. Chapter 8

"I know we need to talk. But Judge Taylor will have my head if I'm late for court," Sam Prescott whispered in his wife's ear while they watched Ben Stone's immediate family and the procession of pallbearers who carried his coffin disappear up the center aisle of the cathedral.

Melnick waited until they were out of the pew and were moving towards the back of the church before turning to confront her husband.

"Did you know, Sam? If you "know we need to talk" does that mean you knew that your Beth Logan was also-"

"The answer is no," Prescott sighed as he took his wife's arm to guide her out of the crush of mourners in the aisle and into an empty pew. "I had no idea Beth's maiden name was Olivet. Even if I had, I wouldn't have had any reason to hide that fact from you. I didn't even realize you two had a connection until last night."

"Last night?"

"Some of the documents from the Merritt case were in that batch of loose pages I refiled for you," he hurriedly explained as he gave her arms a reassuring squeeze. "Like I said honey, I know we need to talk but my office is goin' be payin' sanctions if I don't high tail it out of here pronto."

"I understand," Melnick conceded as he bent down to plant a quick kiss on her cheek. "Go. I have things to do myself. We'll talk tonight."

Though Melnick was doing an admirable job of keeping her voice low and her tone even, the rigid set of her shoulders and the stony look in her eyes made Prescott uncomfortably aware that a storm was, not only brewing but more than likely, about to it.

"Do I want to know what sort of "things" you have in mind?"

"Not if you want to avoid those sanctions," she retorted, only to relent when the look of hesitation in her husband's eyes transformed into outright panic. "Like you said yesterday, I have a laundry list of things to do before I go back to Chicago. The first of which is to express our condolences to Shambala and the rest of Ben's family at the reception. Call me later so I know if we're having a victory dinner or if it's going to be take-out from Angelino's."

"Will do, honey."

Melnick kept the contrite smile she had pasted on her face in place as she watched Prescott slip his way through the crowd and out of sight before she turned to scan the remaining mourners for any sight of Elizabeth Olivet Logan.

Although she recognized some members of the survivor's group that were lingering near the front of the room, neither the new Mrs. Logan nor her husband were among them. She continued her search after she returned to the aisle to inch her way out of the sanctuary. Though her Prada pumps gave Melnick's 5'4 body another three inches of height, she still found herself straining her toes to scan the crowd for a glimpse of the noted psychologist.

"She couldn't have just vanished into thin air," Melnick irritably murmured as she reached the vestibule, just in time to see the District Attorney and Paul Robinette slip out the doorway.

Melnick immediately changed course to make a beeline to the door… murmuring apologies and pushing her way through the crowd with as much urgency as good manners would allow…in a desperate attempt to catch up with her old friend and adversary before he was able to reach his town car to head back to the District Attorney's office.

Knowing that the new Mrs. Logan had been working with the Justice Department, Melnick reasoned that it was likely that she was also still accepting an occasional case from the DA's office, as well. Which meant that McCoy might be able to help her track down Elizabeth Logan.

Once she cleared the doorway, she could see McCoy was halfway down the cathedral steps, still in solemn conversation with Robinette. She also recognized the driver standing beside the third car, in the mile-long row of black town cars that lined the curb, as McCoy's driver.

"Jack," she called out as she abandoned decorum and bolted towards the stairs. An action her body immediately protested by sending a shooting pain up her bad leg. Usually, Melnick would have heeded the warning, but not this time.

Though not entirely sure of _what_ she would say when she caught up with the well-known psychologist, Melnick wasn't about the leave for Chicago until she had confronted the other woman.

Both men turned towards the church upon hearing Melnick's voice, before lingering at the bottom of the stairs to wait as she made her way towards them.

"Danielle, it looks like you've recovered from your going away party," the District Attorney for New York county remarked as the trio stepped out of the flow of people. "When Brooke and I left you and Sam looked like you were ready to lead the conga line."

Melnick couldn't help but smirk. She'd made a remarkable recovery after the shooting. Not only was she still breathing, she eventually regained a significant amount of the mobility she'd lost on her left side. But the doctor's prediction of, "…being able to dance the night away", once she'd completed the assigned physical therapy, had been a bit of a stretch.

In retrospect, Melnick could see the calculation she had so confidently shared with her old friend and nemesis Jack McCoy, had been generous at best. Even after following her doctor's orders to the letter (which had meant reassigning her cases to associates while she completed a grueling regiment of physical therapy four days a week for six months), Melnick still suffered from sporadic muscle cramps, which increased when the temperature dropped or whenever she forgot her limitations. As she had at the party. As she also had charging down the stairs.

But as much as she hated to admit to herself that she had overdone it; she hated admitting it to McCoy more.

"You know I've always been fast on my feet, Jack; outside as well as inside of court," she quipped as she fought the urge to rub her aching leg. "Nice eulogy by the way. In your 'younger and more vulnerable years' you were 'utterly lost' only to have Ben light your way with his glowing example of integrity? Maybe if you'd been_ ten _when you'd been preparing for your first trial."

"This is coming from you, Danielle? I'd call that the pot calling the kettle black," McCoy lightheartedly retorted.

"I'm sure Shambala appreciated the irony of Ben chastising you when you considered using inculpatory evidence that found it's way into a discovery packet meant for you."

"Not you too, Paul," McCoy protested as he held up his hand in mock surrender; to which Robinette grinned as he shrugged his shoulders.

"As if Ben Stone or anyone else could stop you from taking the ball and running with it."

McCoy turned his attention back to Melnick, deliberately straightening to maximize the effect of looking down his nose at the woman that, even in heels, stood just under his shoulders.

"As much as I'd love to continue listening to you two dissect my tribute to Ben, I'm due at One Police Plaza, so unless you had something else on your mind, Danielle-"

"I did. I need to speak to Liz Olivet…Logan…whatever. She disappeared before I could catch her. I thought you might know if she has business at the courthouse or with one of your ADA's at Hogan Place?"

"Why do you need to talk to Liz," Robinette unexpectedly interjected. "You just closed up shop, didn't you Danielle?"

"I did but…well…," she momentarily faltered; startled and slightly embarrassed with the answer to his query that sprang to mind, though she recovered quickly as a more palatable reply came to mind. "Actually, Sam asked me to speak with her."

"Sam? Why?"

"They've been working on a case," Melnick continued while ignoring McCoy's question and the open confusion on both men's faces. "It's a long story. Anyway, do you know where she is?"

McCoy exchanged cautious glances with Robinette. While he had not been involved in the case against Alexander Merritt, over the years, McCoy had been affected by its fallout.

Neither woman ever directly refused to work on a case when the other was involved. But it didn't take McCoy…along with then sitting DA Adam Schiff… long to see the pattern that developed when Melnick was named as opposing counsel in a case that Liz Olivet was asked to consult on.

Alternatively, Olivet's calendar suddenly filled up when it became clear that more than a written report would be required or Melnick would wave her right to directly confront McCoy's expert witness and either refute Olivet's findings with her own expert's testimony or in chambers… as with the Sandler case.. between the judge and opposing counsel.

"I don't. Liz has cut back on her consulting work in the last several years," McCoy responded as the trio began to move towards the curb. "She's devoted most of her time to private practice. Even more so since she and Logan made it official."

"I had no idea they were together," Robinette admitted as they came to a halt beside McCoy's waiting town car. "I knew there was something there before Logan was transferred to Staten Island but that was years ago."

"I don't know all the details but apparently, Logan contacted her after their relationship came out in court," McCoy began.

"You mean after you had Cutter do your dirty work in the Waxman case," Melnick chimed in.

"I warned Liz the gloves would come off," McCoy snapped making it clear that, despite his indifferent response, the lengths he'd gone to in order to legitimize the controversial expert testimony Cutter had offered to discredit Emma Waxman's defense to the murder of her husband, still left a bad taste in his mouth. "She knew what she was getting into before she took the stand."

"Come on Jack. She might have expected the rape to come up but something as explosive as her sleeping with a patient? I don't even want to know how you found something like that out. No way did you hear it from Mike Logan, and I can't think of a reason Liz would have risked her license by telling anyone, especially anyone in your office about-"

"He wasn't her patient for long, Paul," McCoy shot back, refusing to address the other man's unspoken question. "She immediately referred Logan-"

"Jack, Liz could have lost her license when it came out that she'd slept with a patient, circumstances notwithstanding," Robinette countered.

"I'm not going to apologize to either one of you for putting a murderer behind bars," McCoy stubbornly rejoined as his driver opened the passenger door. "If you don't like the way I do my job Paul, feel free to challenge me in November."

"Wow. Sounds like someone struck a nerve," Melnick observed as McCoy's town car disappeared into the late morning traffic.

"You started it," Robinette jokingly shot back, "by bringing up the Waxman case."

"Jack's a big boy. He can take it. Besides, the Waxman case is yesterday's news. Olivet wouldn't still be consulting for his office if they hadn't already kissed and made up," Melnick remarked before bidding Robinette goodbye and turning her gaze towards the cab stand across the street.

"But not you and Olivet, right Danielle," Robinette continued and surprised her by falling into step with her. "You said Sam wanted you to talk to her. He must not know about the history between you two."

"He didn't but he does now," Melnick shot back; immediately annoyed that she had started to explain herself. "What is this, Paul? I simply asked Jack where I could find a colleague, not whether he could get me an audience with the Pope."

"I was Ben's second chair on the Merritt case, Danielle," Robinette gently reminded her as they followed a cluster of people into the crosswalk.

"I hadn't forgotten," Melnick shot back, though for a moment, she had indeed forgotten Robinette's involvement in the case. "You know I was doing my job. You also know that I was as in the dark as anyone else was and that, in the end, Merritt got what he deserved."

"I do. To all of the above. Which is why I can't imagine you seeking out Liz Olivet for any reason. You said Sam wanted you to talk to her. Do you mind telling me why and what good you think could possibly come from that?"

_Actually, I do mind_ was Melnick's knee jerk reaction. But, as she opened her mouth to blast the former ADA, it occurred to her that Robinette might just be the perfect sounding board.


	9. Chapter 9

"Alright," Melnick sighed once she and Paul Robinette had made themselves comfortable on the rod iron bench that sat a few feet from the cab stand. "Sam and Olivet have been working on a case for the last few months and he seems to think she's the next Anna Freud."

"That doesn't explain why he thinks you should talk to Liz. Unless…you're not defense counsel in the case… are you?"

"Hardly. Even if I didn't have a judgeship waiting for me, I'm not about to start playing fast and loose with my marriage by becoming one of Sam's professional adversaries. Sam knows I've been anxious about the judgeship. He's been pressing me to talk to his new best friend about it. He thought maybe talking to a professional would help calm me down."

"You? Anxious? We've known each other, what? Twenty years? I've seen you indignant, enraged and _always_ outspoken. But anxious? Anxious is a new look for you, Danielle."

"Not as new as playing comedian is for you and by the way Paul," she continued as her companion's smile blossomed into a full-blown grin. "You're no Chris Rock."

"Point taken, counselor," Robinette conceded as a genuine note of concern crept into his voice. "It's just that you usually take to a challenge the way a duck takes to water. I suppose it's natural you'd have some misgivings, though. After so many years on the defense side of the aisle, it would be unrealistic to expect you to make the transition from zealous advocate to impartial voice of reason overnight."

"You didn't seem to have any problem transitioning when you made the move to private practice," Melnick thoughtfully noted.

"I was still in the role of the persuader, the advocate. What you're doing goes beyond changing which side of a case you're arguing," Robinette explained as he gave her shoulder a supportive squeeze. "I'd say what you're doing is akin to breaking in a new pair of shoes. No matter how much you wanted them, you're not really going to be comfortable until you've had your feet in them for a while."

"Thanks, Paul. Maybe Sam should have tried sending me to Jimmy Choo instead of Liz Olivet," Melnick answered with a chuckle.

"So, am I right to assume Sam doesn't know about the Merritt case?"

"He didn't until recently. Sam didn't realize that Olivet and Beth Logan were one in the same, until she gave her tribute to Ben."

Robinette nodded in understanding.

"That explains why Sam looked like he'd seen a ghost when Liz introduced herself."

"He did?"

"He did. I was sitting next to him, remember? I turned to shoot you a glance because I haven't forgotten the reason for the bad blood between you and Liz. I wasn't sure if you knew she was speaking, and I was concerned about both of you.

"It was obvious you were disturbed. I thought I knew why. Nonetheless, Sam's reaction was a mystery to me, until now. But now that Sam knows who Liz is, it seems unlikely he'll bring up the idea of you seeing her again."

"Sam enjoys having a harmonious home front; he leaves the proverbial fireworks at work."

"Which makes me wonder why you are trying to seek Liz out?"

"Because I'm not about to let her get away with playing Sam for a fool. _He _may not have known who she was, but Olivet isn't stupid. She had to have known I was Sam's wife. Yet she was willing to play dumb and encouraged him to set up a meeting with me? I want to know why."

While Robinette found it hard to believe Elizabeth Logan would engage in the petty antics that Melnick was accusing her of, he knew the former defense attorney well enough to know that playing devil's advocate with her would be a losing battle, especially over something she was already so adamant about.

"Even if you're right, do you really think she would want to dig up the past now? You and I both know what that case cost Liz."

Impulsively, Melnick opened her mouth to inform Robinette that he had no idea what that case had cost_ her_. She sincerely doubted that the former prosecutor had any idea of the humiliation…as well as the guilt…learning the extent of Alexander Merritt's crimes had heaped on her, not to mention the ordeal that followed when Olivet had slapped her with a civil suit.

But almost in the same moment, she slammed her lips back together. No, Robinette had only been privy to the wreckage of that case, as it pertained to Elizabeth Olivet.

Olivet had been on retainer to the DA's office at the time, so both Stone and Robinette would have heard via the office grapevine (if not from the psychologist herself ) that Olivet had asked to suspend her work for the DA's office immediately after the guilty verdict had been subject to a trial order of dismissal by presiding Judge Keith Silver.

By the time it came out that Merritt had attacked numerous women, Adam Schiff had allowed Olivet to significantly cut back on her work for the DA's office. Once Schiff had pressured Ben Stone to use Olivet's rape to discredit her testimony for the defense in another case later that same year, the number of cases Olivet was called into consult on could have been counted on one hand.

"Danielle?"

Melnick turned her gaze back to Robinette and let out a sigh.

"What I think is that we've kept Shambala waiting long enough," she remarked as she stood up and shifted her gaze to the dwindling line at the cab stand.

"So, you're willing to let this thing with Liz go," Robinette skeptically countered, not surprised to see Melnick ignore his question as she continued to stride towards the line of cabs.


End file.
